


Lost and Wandering

by Sheetmusicjunkie



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bofur drops things, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-09-02
Updated: 2013-10-31
Packaged: 2017-12-25 08:47:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,888
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/951096
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sheetmusicjunkie/pseuds/Sheetmusicjunkie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bofur is a collage student, and even though his life is filled with purpose, he ends up so often feeling useless, not knowing what to do with himself. Between work, school, taking care Bombur, his moody tween brother, while Bifur is at work, and the little yellow house being crammed full of relatives and a professor that takes over the kitchen and bakes bread in the middle of the night. Bofur didn't think his life could get any weirder, or at least, didn't think that he would be able to balance it all. </p><p>Then he met Nori.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Watch where you walk.

**Author's Note:**

> Aha so I took a page from a friends book and channeled all of my beginning of the semester blues into this story, sorry, it's entirely ooc and not beta'd at all.  
> Please feel free to tell me what you think at the end, or whatever.  
> Please, THIS IS MY BABY, THIS FIC. Please don't copy or anything else like that please.

“I’m not mad you know, you don’t have to look like that.”

Bofur looked up, Bifur was leaning in the doorway, his hair pulled back into a braid, his beard had been neatly trimmed that morning. He was leaning in the doorway to the front room, cradling a cup of tea between his large hands, a soft smile underneath his facial hair. Bofur looked down at his own hands, blunt and rough as they were, similar to those of everyone else in his family. He wondered briefly if it was a genetic trait of some sort.

“Uh yeah, I know” He murmured, tapping nervously at the raised keys of his laptop without actually writing anything. He ran a hand through his hair, pulling here and there at the occasional tangle, it felt greasy, and his sweater hung off his shoulders all wrong, he had a bad taste in his mouth. All of this combined made him feel more tired than he already was. When was the last time he had showered? Two days ago? He could shower now, he should, it would make him feel better but he was taking Bombur swimming later so it would be pointless anyway.

Bifur frowned at him beneath furry eyebrows, pushing off of the threshold and patting into the kitchen, which was open to the rest of the house by the bar. “you look like you think I’m mad, I’m not, you don’t have to do that thing” He clanked dishes around here and there, pulling mismatched cups from the dishwasher and piling them neatly into the cabinets. Bofur looked up at him, raising his eyebrows, “that thing where you shrink in on yourself.” His older cousin elaborated, hunching his shoulders in an imitation of what Bofur was doing at the moment. Causing the other to hunch further into his baggy sweater and glare at the bright screen for a moment, wishing something would happen. His eyes slid over to the salt and pepper head bobbing around in the kitchen, and the bright red hair of the person sitting at his feet. 

“I’m not, I mean… I don’t think your mad, it’s just… I’m thinking stuff in my own head, you know?” Bofur waved a hand vaguely, tapping at his forehead, his cousin considered the gesture skeptically, but left it alone, stirring whatever was on the stove at the moment after closing the dishwasher with his hip. Bofur sighed, relieved to be left alone, but the tightening in the bottom of his stomach was still there, the pressure behind his eyes lingered. He was four days into the semester and he was already losing his ability to care about anything; he was already sleep deprived. He felt lost and shiftless and more than a little bit alone, even as Bifur stood in the next room and his little brother watched a cartoon at his feet.

He needed to reign this in, this feeling, he needed to regain control, if he didn’t do that soon, it was going to be a very long semester. 

~  
Bofur woke up to the sound of his phone blaring across the room, the chimes so cheery it made him irrationally angry for some indescribable reason. He sat up, his head was heavy and his body slow, instantly he knew that staying up late last night had been a mistake. Why did he stay up so late? Curse the internet! His thoughts were thick as molasses, what had he been thinking? He half fell out of bed, untangling himself from the bright yellow sheets and stumbling over to fumble with the blasted device before turning and flopping down on his bed in blessed silence for just a little longer. He could hear the muffled noises of Bifur most likely bundling a disgruntled Bombur up for a day of school. Bofur would bet good money that he was tugging at the lapels of his little brothers jacket and insisting on walking him to the bus stop. For how many years had he been subjected to that? Bofur waited until he heard the voices, one pitched decidedly higher, fade and front door close with a creak before getting out of bed. For real this time.

He pulled on worn out sweatpants with his uni logo on them and a sweater that happened to be under foot, trudging out into the kitchen, ruffling his hair with one hand. Grey early light filtered in through the already open windows and even though his head felt like it was full of cotton, Bofur could appreciate the atmosphere of early morning hush. Kids going off to school and people heading to work, the sun almost over the mountains. 

Bofur had never had much attachment to singular places or things, he had placed a great deal of importance on people instead. He supposed it was helpful, as he had lived in this particular house, a single floor ranch style that was painted a faded color of yellow and had a front door that didn’t close properly, for only a couple of years. Bifur had moved them here, and before this a few other places, apartments or quaint little houses that shifted in his grainy memory along with the reason for why they were even there. But when they had come here Bifur had thrown out all of the old packing boxes that had come with them and declared that they were never moving again. Bofur happily claimed a tiny room in the back of the house, one that had no insulation and a heater that was broken half the time (mostly during the winter months.) He painted it the color of a sunset, left the bed to sit on the floor and piled the thing high with comforters and handmade quilts from a grandmother he could no longer remember. This was the first house that the young man thought he could truly come to love.

Bofur stared at the chrome finish of the coffee pot for a moment, shoved over in a corner between the fridge and the little corner sink. He tried to gauge his need for caffeine over the state of his stomach, which had the tendency to be temperamental this early in the morning. Eventually the necessity for caffeine won and Bofur pulled his bright yellow and blue mug out of a cabinet, humming to himself. He was stirring sugar into his first cup of the day when the front door opened, creaking slightly on its hinges and letting in a gust of cool September air. Bifur nudged the thing back into it’s frame with his shoulder before turning and smiling at his cousin. 

“It’s good to see you finally up” the older man greeted, ever cheerful as he shrugged out of a thick tan jacket with a grease stain on the right sleeve. He walked in, clasping the shorter man to his broad chest in a suffocating, albeit affectionate embrace before reaching out for the coffee pot himself (this was likely his cousins third cup that morning if the weight of the carafe indicated anything.) Bofur smiled, pushing down the faint hint of annoyance at being accused of being a late riser (it was 6:45 in the morning after all!) walking around the counter and sitting down at one of the bar stools, sipping gingerly at his cup, just in case his insides decided to change their mind. 

Bifur had raised Bomber and himself since they were children, (a baby in Bomber’s case) he was technically their cousin but was more like a father at the end of the day. The man was all wild hair and close cut beard, a woodworker and a toymaker by trade and a baker when business was slow, he was incredibly gentle hearted. He would never hurt a fly on a regular day but would protect his family fiercely if ever there was a need. Bofur loved the man for all he was worth and would do anything for him.

“Do you want food?” Bifur asked, getting a frying pan out from under the counter and opening the fridge with his toe, peeking inside and muttering something about grocery lists (it seemed like they were always out of cheese these days.)

Bofur felt his stomach give a lurch, he grimaced, shaking his head “No, it’s too early” the coffee was at least making his head hurt a little less, but the idea of anything else made him queezy. His cousin shot him a sideways glance, frowning under his beard as he cracked an egg delicately with his large fingers.

“You have to eat something, no excuses, and don’t you have to get ready to go soon?” 

Leaning over the counter Bofur peered at the digital clock on the stove, “shit, yeah I do need to get out of here” he held up a hand before the older man could get a word in “and FINE, yes, I will eat toast at least.” With that he took his coffee cup back to his little room, stealing gulps as he scrambled to find clothes that were relatively clean. He ended up in a plaid green flannel button down and a pair of jeans that were baggy in the knees and tight on his hips. His hair was a mess of black curls that went just past his ears and stood in any direction they liked. He was mostly bare faced, because despite the fact that he was almost 20 Bofur couldn’t grow a beard, or even too much stubble, to save his life. Combined with his glasses, which almost looked like something out of the 1950s, he was a typical looking college student. At least in his opinion. 

He swallowed his toast under the watchful eye of his cousin before stumbling out the door, keys clenched between his teeth, his phone in his left hand and his backpack in the other. His car was an old astro van from the late 90s, it had a window that was kept closed with bright pink duct tape and the lock button on the driver’s side door was broken. It was a long standing argument between himself and Bombur over what color the car actually was, sometimes it was green, other times it was blue, and Bifur insisted that is was turquoise. It had been dubbed ‘Smirf Killer’ by the family, on account of the bright blue streak on the front bumper from where he had run into a handicapped parking sign a few years back.

The most interesting mystery about the car was that the heater took a good 30 minutes before it would actually start blowing warm air. When Bofur had taken the car to a shop to get the thing fixed, he had only gotten a very large bill and confused mechanics, claiming that they couldn’t actually find a heater in the car. After that, he had stopped questioning the logic of Smurf Killer and was just thankful that the thing ran. 

All the fast roads to campus were slowed by construction that seemed to have no purpose whatsoever, he chewed nervously on the side of his thumb while stuck in traffic. He had a geology lecture and a lab and scribbled furious notes on density and plate tectonics before trying, and failing to identify various types of minerals and rocks. He left with panic and dread bubbling in the bottom of his stomach for the test was next week and he was nowhere near ready for it, talc and chalk seemed to be far too similar to each other and the only thing he could identify without a doubt was graphite. 

He was exhausted already and it was only 11:15am, he rubbed his eyes as he walked out of lab, his hands were cold and he was starving. He crossed the parking lot, busy with foot traffic at this hour between classes and entered the front hall of the library. Bofur was checking his phone as he walked through the lobby to the coffee shop that connected the Social Sciences Building and the Library to each other. Bifur had sent him a few texts, wishing him good luck and mentioning that they needed cheese and to not forget his scarf in his car again (too late.) Suddenly, he was jerked out of his thoughts as his shoulder roughly connected with something, he stumbled, flailing for a moment before falling forward, landing hard on his hands and knees. 

“Hey watch- oh crap” 

Bofur only had a moment to register his embarrassment before he was roughly hauled to his feet by two large hands, one on his arm and another around his waist.

“Nothing to see here! Stop your fucking staring you twats!” 

The hands disappeared for a moment before pressing something into his own “here, I’m sorry” Bofur frowned at his glasses, checking them for scratches before putting them back on. They must have gone skittering across the tiled floor when he had fallen. Thank God they hadn’t broken, he didn’t know what he would do if he had to go without them while they fitted a new pair.

“Thank you” He replied, blinking as the world came back into focus before turning to the person those hands belonged to. He paused,

Because the person who had helped him up happened to be… not that bad looking, with slacks and a button down rolled up to his elbows, a dark red tie and well maintained, short, copper colored hair that was a little longer on top. No he was not bad looking at all, Bofur flushed, good looking people made him nervous. 

“Earth to space cadet, hello?” The man was staring at him, his eyes were sharp, his face long and intelligent. Bofur continued to flush as he focused back onto the man, 

“Uh yes, hello! Sorry!”

The man with the copper hair gave him a sideways look “here, you dropped this” he held out the others cellphone, which Bofur took gratefully. He could feel a flush creeping up his neck and over his face, if he didn’t calm down he would soon turn the color of a tomato if experience had told him anything. 

“Anyway, sorry for knocking you down like that” copper hair said, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. 

Bofur put his hands in his pockets and scuffed a toe on the floor, “no big deal, it happens right?” He shrugged, biting his lip. 

The man gave him an odd look before nodding to himself “yeah, it happens… well… see you then.” He muttered, his voice trailing off at the end, he turned on his heel abruptly and walked out into the cold, wet afternoon without a coat. Bofur stared after him for a moment, dazed,

“Bye…” 

That was the first time he met Nori.


	2. Helpless Idiot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He had too many relatives and not enough house.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aha, soooo, I finished editing this, annnnddd. I hope you enjoy it, please, comments and feedback are sososoooo welcome. Please tell me what you think!   
> The updates wont be coming so fast after this, I just happened to have the second chapter done already.

Bofur walked back to the car in a daze, hunching into the thick coat Bifur had pushed on him that morning, his face had been scrunched up in that peculiar way of his that meant he wanted to fuss more than he was but was resisting. Bifur had been doing that as long as he could remember, fussing over the Broadbeam brothers, even when he had only been 22 and new to taking care of other people. Feeding the boys burnt eggs in the morning and tying ugly handmade scarves around his neck before school. Bofur smiled at the memory, turning his collar up against the cold, wet, wind; unlocking the drivers side door of the van and sliding in, taking the time to lean back in his seat for a moment. He listened to the patter of rain on the roof and felt an almost profound sense of calm wash over him before realizing that other people probably needed to park, he over to fumble for his keys.

The encounter at the library had been brief enough that it was pushed to the back of Bofur’s mind by the time he pulled into the gravel driveway of the little yellow house. The neighborhood was a quiet little one, about two blocks away from an elementary school and even though they were in the middle of the city they were surrounded by trees, it was nearly a mile to the closest store. He nudged the car door shut with his hip, the lawn was greener than usual and the air smelled like gasoline and freshly cut grass. The lawn guys must have come by while he was gone, (it had been decided that spring that neither Bofur nor Bifur had the time to cut the lawn, forget about getting Bombur to do it, so they hired others to do it.) He slipped his shoes off in the tiny front entryway with chipped white tile, dumping his backpack on the couch in the front room. He huffed at the state of his glasses, taking them off and wiping the rain from them with annoyance, he needed to just remember to take them off while he was outside. He pushed the spectacles back up the bridge of his nose with a knuckle before looking around. The house was silent and still for once, everybody gone to either work or school and Bofur took the chance to enjoy his temporary solitude and make himself lunch. He glanced at the clock on the stove, there were only minutes to go before Bombur came home.

Bofur was leaning on the counter, halfway through a peanut butter sandwich, the bread slightly crusty, by the time his little brother came in, slamming the door behind him moodily. Things didn’t look good and the older brother internalized a sigh, putting on his best smile “Hey there kid, how was your day?” His eyebrows raised in surprise at the glower he got in return, if looks could kill…

“That bad huh? Hey hey! Take your shoes off at the door!” Bofur shouted as the brat with the killer eyes started clomping across the clean living room carpet with his muddy shoes still on. The younger snorted, yanking his sneakers off in angry, jerking motions before chucking them towards the front entrance. Bofur allowed himself a sigh at that point. Bombur was about 12 and in his first year in middle school, he was slightly chubby and short for his age, with bright red hair and freckles. No one had any idea where he had gotten the hair color, seeing as he and Bifur both had dark black hair, and where Bofur had impossible, curly hair, Bombur had frizzy hair that was even worse. He was an awkward kid who preferred cooking and video games to people and his brother he felt for him, he really did, but that didn’t excuse trying to wear his muddy shoes across the carpet. “What’s wrong with you?” He asked, putting his hands on his hips, squinting quizzically. 

Bomber stomped into the kitchen, wrenching open the fridge with a low curse that Bofur pretended not to hear and grabbing a snack that consisted mostly of chips and cheese “I don’t want to talk about it.” He muttered, retreating towards the other side of the house where his and Bifur’s rooms were. Bofur blinked, slightly taken aback and a little hurt at the response to his good intentions, he pushed it away, the kid was young and angry right now. He wasn’t going to start anything, especially tonight, but the young man instead resigned himself to speaking to Bifur about it later. The poor man had been dealing with his swinging moods for 10 years now and would know what to do.

~

Bofur rubbed his face with his hands, pushing his glasses up to rub at his eyes before staring at the bright computer screen that had become both his enemy and his friend. It was two weeks into the semester, only two weeks and he felt it, the pressure on his shoulders and his chest, the shifting sense of purposelessness even though his days were filled with direction. He looked over at Bifur, who was busy folding shirts, surrounded my mounds of clean laundry that had accumulated over the week that he only got the time to do on Saturday’s. He could feel depression, his old friend lingering and trying to settle over him, he wanted to tell someone, he wanted to say something. Yet at the same time he didn’t, he didn’t want to burden his family, all of whom already had so much on their shoulders.

Bofur clenched his jaw and squeezed his eyes closed to combat the pressure he found there. What the hell was wrong with him? This question plagued his waking hours and it only made him feel worse, because the truth was that he didn’t know. He had no idea what was wrong, he only had the overwhelming feeling that something was missing. 

Bofur ended up being pulled from his frustrations, and the evils of his computer, a few hours later. He was thrust out of the house and into the cool, wet, grey day, bundled up in a sweater and an orange hand knitted scarf. He was happy to leave the noise of Bombur’s video games behind and the screeching of Thorin’s little nephews, Fili and Kili, who were visiting so Thorin could get a little work done for once. Thorin was his cousin, and the poor man had been declared the sole guardian of the twin toddlers occupying his living room after their parents died. The family had taken bets that their stern cousin wouldn’t be able to handle the pressure of being a parent. Yet he had managed surprised them all and turning out to be an incredibly competent care taker. (Bofur gave this credit to Bilbo, Thorin’s boyfriend, who had done a shocking amount to tone down the legendary temper of his older cousin these last few years.) Balin, who was currently occupying their kitchen, and Dwalin, the bald tattooed cop who was attempting, and failing, to beat Bombur at a racing game, were also their cousins. Although none of them had any idea what the specific ties were that made them blood, they were family nonetheless.

Bofur muttered crossly, he held in his hand a grocery list, written in Balin’s neat and distinctive scrawl (he was a professor a great deal of the time when he wasn’t baking bread in their kitchen.) He glared crossly at the windshield while he pulled onto the main road, the radio tuned to whatever station he had been on that morning on his way to the gym. He reached out and turned off the radio with a click, sighing into the silence his car provided, the little yellow house was too small for so many people, and often times ended up deafeningly noisy with the activities of his relatives. Sometimes Bofur fantasized about moving out and living at the dorms, about not being woken up in the middle of the night by his cousins. But for all his grumbling Bofur knew that while he enjoyed his moments of peace, he would sorely miss the ruckus of the people he had grown up with. The young man drifted in and out of thought for the rest of his drive, turning over a plot, dismantling it in his mind and briefly flitting over the idea of squeezing a workout in sometime that weekend if he got the chance. Before he knew it he was at the little natural food store that the professor had specified while pushing him out the door.

The little store was a local one, and was popular with the university students at lunch hours during the week. It had a parking lot that was half dirt, and when you went inside it had the feel of the place that had been there a long while. With springy young vegetables of every color laid out on display, oranges that were prefect and bright and just as good on the inside and rows of delicious mushrooms and onions that were worth every penny. The whole place smelled like a particular kind of tea that, while familer to Bofur, he could never quite place.

Bofur was in the tea isle, armed with only a hand basket that was already over flowing with different vegetables, fruits, spices, and some particularly delightful smelling tomatoes he had found (an unwise mistake that he continued to make every time he went shopping, he never thought he would get very much so he avoided a cart) his arms were full as well, with apples and broccoli and yogurt. He reached out, intent on NOT dropping the apples while trying to grasp the box of earl grey in front of him, oolong already clutched in his other hand. Fate was not with him though and the apples dropped, rolling in their bag down the aisle, he cursed as the yogurt and a bottle of honey decided to follow the fruits example. Bofur knelt down, sighing deeply because these things were just not going his way at the moment, he was deeply tired and he wanted to cry a little bit as a result.

There was a set of footsteps and a pair of feet came into his line of sight, followed by a the creeking of a shopping cart with a bad wheel and a sigh.

“Oh you helpless idiot, here.” Came an astoundingly distinct and familiar voice from somewhere above his head, Bofur he followed the feet up a pair of slack-clad legs and a thick, fitted maroon sweater that was pushed up to the elbows, only to find the familiar face of the copper haired man. The man had his hands on his hips, his expression somewhere between annoyed and amused. He looked as if he was struggling with himself for a moment before shrugging and kneeling down, picking up Bofur’s, now probably bruised apples and putting them in his own, wisely chosen, shopping cart. Bofur grabbed the honey and yogurt before standing, only to have them deftly removed from his arms and placed in the copper haired man’s cart. “Is this a habit of yours? Carrying more than you can manage?” The other asked, his hands going back to rest on his hips, eyebrows raised in exasperation, it looked as if the position was one familiar to him. Bofur once again felt like he wanted to cry, or laugh, if only his companion knew how very true his words were.

Something must have shown on Bofur’s face because suddenly the other man looked uncomfortable, dropping his hands and pulling the sleeves of his sweater down, picking at the cuffs of the maroon sweater before suddenly thrusting a hand out to him. Bofur stared at the hand for a moment before glancing up at the owner of the hand, eyebrows raised.

Copper hair rolled his eyes, tilting his head to the left a little and pinning Bofur with intense and slightly frustrated eye contact. “Look, if I’m going to keep meeting you like this then it’s best that I know you by a name and not just ‘that helpless idiot that drops things.’” He sounded as irritated as he looked, fidgeting where he stood and Bofur honestly mulled over the idea of being offended for a moment before shrugging and grasping the hand in his own. 

“I’m Bofur” he said with a grin that made his cheeks dimple and his eyes squint, a trademark look for him, or so he was told.

“Nori” The other said, giving him a look that made Bofur slightly uncomfortable.

Nori’s hand was warm in his, with long clever fingers that wrapped around his own. And Bofur, for the first time in a while, standing in the middle of the tea isle with a box of oolong clutched in one hand, felt a little bit of warmth towards this stranger unfurl in his chest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SO AGAIN, tell me what you think! comment please, or contact me on Tumblr, my URL is sheetmusicjunkie  
> Thank youuuuu.


	3. The Third Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bofur deals with his issues, and maybe the family helps,

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, LONG chapter, I THOUGHT about splitting it up but I couldn't do it in a way that worked so HERE YOU GO.   
> No beta, so point out any glaring mistakes for me okay??   
> What kind of issues do you think Bofur is working through do you think?  
> Comments or questions, or suggestions!   
> THANK YOU.

Bofur awoke, not to the irritating chiming of his mobile but instead to a polite rapping on his bedroom door. He groaned and rolled over as the door creaked open, letting in the obnoxious yellow light from the bathroom next door.

“Come on lad! It’s time to go to work!”

Bofur peeked out from under his pillow, glaring as best he could through the hair in his eyes at Bifur’s silhouette in the doorway, he was probably grinning smugly from ear to ear and wearing some form of plaid (Bifur refused to change the way he dressed, pointing out that Bofur dressed exactly the same way, as did most of the men in his family.) His cousin huffed at the lack of response, clomping noisily across the room in a few strides and pulling the covers off of the younger man, who groaned and rolled over on his stomach, one bare foot touching the floor.

“It’s cold! Nooo, give me my quilt back!” he whined, pressing his face into his pillow and groaning against the light invading through the doorway. All he got in return was an unsympathetic laugh from his elder, Bofur stubbornly lay face down for a minute, hating the world and his cousin for existing this early in the morning before sliding gracelessly out of bed. He flopped onto the cold floor, his skin breaking out into goose bumps before rolling and stumbling onto his feet. Eyeing his bed sorrowfully and wishing he could just spend his day curled up under those sheets. Bifur shook his head, laughing into his beard before grabbing his cousins robe off the back of the door, seizing the younger man by the back of his sleep shirt and hauling him into the bathroom. Bofur started as he was suddenly grabbed, he swore, attempting to twist out of the others grip unsuccessfully. Bifur lightly shoved him into the bathroom, tossing the robe and towel to him as he stumbled. 

“Bifur what the hell?!” Bofur turned and glared, the towel flopped over one side of his head and the robe on the floor.

His cousin crossed his arms and huffed “you smell like you’re homeless, you need a shower, wash your hair and your face young man; and I am making you breakfast, no arguing.” He pointed a thick, accusing finger at Bofur before reaching out and closing the door behind him. Bofur glared and the offending piece of wood for a moment before heaving a sigh, scooping his robe up and setting it to hang on a hook in the tiny bathroom. He stripped, shivering as cold air hit his skin, at least the water would be warm enough to chase off the early morning chill that pervaded his end of the house, which was lacking in insulation and had a heater that didn’t work half of the time. Unlike the other end of the house, which had been added on and was a little better built as a result. 

Bofur listened to the pipes creak and give a little hiss before the shower started, stepping under the water and pulling the curtain closed. He moaned as steam billowed around him, hot water pounding at the base of his neck and sliding over his shoulders. The tension there, built up from hours hunched over a desk or computer, slowly eased. Five minutes or half an hour passed this way, he couldn’t tell before he shook himself out of a daze and tilted his head back to wet his hair. 

He hummed a little in the back of his throat, fumbling for the shampoo bottle as he turned over his duties for the day. His head was heavy, his thoughts slow and sleepy as Bofur closed his eyes, rubbing his fingers into the birds nest that he passed off as hair. He wavered on his feet a little, bracing an arm against the wall of the shower as the other absently helped rinse the suds out. There was a geology test to study for, he couldn’t forget about that, and math exercises that he had put off because they didn’t need to be turned in. He felt like he was falling behind and at this point he was merely guessing at what to do in psych. “If only I could stay in bed” he murmured, trying not to think too hard about the outside world while standing in the shower. Life just moved a little too fast these days, it seemed to slip by and leave him scrambling behind for something to grasp onto.

All his thoughts aside, and as blissfully undemanding as the bathroom was, the water eventually turned cold and as much as he mourned that, fortunately Bofur was clean and finished by the time this happened. Steam billowed behind him as he padded into the front room, wrapped in a light pink bathrobe and rubbing his head with a towel, wet curls sticking up. Loose limbed and tired, but clear headed all the same, that was a rarity these days after all. There was a little snort from his left and Bofur looked up, breaking out of his thoughts to see Dwalin leaning on the counter, in uniform, tan coffee cup dwarfed in his hands. “Don’t you say a word” Bofur muttered, pointing a finger and glaring from under his bangs while rounding the counter and stretching past Bifur at the stove to get to the carafe and cups.

The cop raised the mug to his lips, grinning around it, “I think that color is adorable on you,” he cooed at him, reaching out with a burly arm to pull the young man in and ruffle his hair. Bofur struggled for a moment, pushing at the appendage “with your wet hair and that glower, you look like you did when you were five and couldn’t find your teddy bear.”

“do not” He whined, giving up with a huff when he realized it was a fruitless attempt to escape the thick arm, using his weight to lean into Dwalin instead, who patted his back and laughed, a sound Bofur thought was far too loud and jolly for this time of the morning. Then again, Dwalin had always been a morning person, much to his chagrin, Bofur secretly thought it was half the reason he had become a cop in the first place.

Bifur smiled at the pair before setting his pan down and pulling his cousin from the burly man and into a tight hug “well at least you smell more like a human and less like a horse. Now both of you out of the kitchen!” He swatted a tea towel at the pair “go sit at the table with Balin” Bofur grabbed his cup as he was dragged from the small room, Dwalin’s arm going back around his shoulders. He was deposited in a chair next to Balin, the dining room was connected to the kitchen by a large doorway where a wall would have been otherwise (it’s what people would call an open floor plan.)

“While you do look charming in that, I think green would suit you better” Balin observed, stroking his beard absently with one hand while nudging the sugar jar towards Bofur’s elbow with a wink. Dwalin chuckled and all the young man could do was frown half-heartedly, the corner of his mouth twitching as he stirred sugar into his coffee.

“I agree with the green idea, maybe even a funny hat” Bifur chimed in as he turned away from the kitchen, four plates balanced in his arms. Ignoring his cousins protests as a plate loaded with eggs and toast was plunked down in front of him. Bofur eyed his eggs skeptically, while it smelled wonderful he didn’t really want to eat it, the thought wasn’t very appealing to him. He looked up to see the three older men watching him, their looks ranging from worried, to carefully neutral, to downright terrifying. He ducked down and looked at the eggs, they looked perfect, the toast had butter on it, and his stomach gave a mournful growl. The young man sighed as Balin pressed something cool and metal into palm, a fork most likely. Bofur let out a silent breath through his nose and tentatively went about eating his food. His kin exchanged a worried glance before turning to their own plates.   
“I think it might rain later” the professor observed as they tucked in, a sort of tense curtain hanging about the table as they spoke with one another, the kind that lingered in families whenever there was an elephant in the room no one wanted to point out. Bofur was eyeballed all through breakfast and finished his eggs under the scrutiny of his relatives.

~

They left the house soon after breakfast, this time in Bifur’s car, which was only slightly newer than Bofurs own, leaving Dwalin and Balin to get Bombur off to school on time and lock up after themselves. Bofur tugged absently at a tangle or two that had been missed by his brush, his skin felt too tight and the stale taste of butter lingered in his mouth. The eggs sat like a deadweight in the bottom of his stomach, he didn’t like it. “They’re probably going to drink all the coffee” he muttered, crossing his arms over his abdomen and leaning his forehead against the glass of the passenger’s side. It was still early, 3am, and the world was dark, city lights dancing in yellows, greens and reds against his glasses. The only cars about were those people who worked nights, just going home, partiers heading back to their dorms, and early workers who woke up before dawn. Everyone else slept on, oblivious. 

Bifur snorted beside him, the radio murmured low in the background above the car noise, “you would exist off of coffee if you had your way. Let other people have some for a change.” Bofur smiled at that, humming absently in place of speaking, which seemed like too much effort at the moment. 

An all to short time later the car pulled to a stop, engine rattling as it idled, Bofur opened his eyes and sighed, eyeing the cold, wet darkness, he sat up, turning to Bifur, who smiled and ruffled his hair before dragging him into a hug. “Now, you’re going to be alright, this is family after all” he murmured, pulling back and wrapping a scarf tightly around Bofur’s neck. “Behave yourself and do well, alright? Be safe.” Bofur smiled, watching a few of the worry lines ease from Bifur’s face; how many of those had he been responsible for? He clasped him back tightly 

“I will, I promise” he grabbed his bag and slipped out of the car, burying his nose into the scarf as he watched his cousin drive off into the early morning. Leaving him standing on the sidewalk in the rain.

Bofur stood there a moment, in the quiet, rain drizzling down on his head with the distant noise of traffic in the background, before turning and walking up the little steps to the little shop, his new job. The sign on the door was flipped to read ‘closed’ but the lights were on inside, their soft yellow light pouring out onto the sidewalk. He rapped on the bright green door and waited, stomach twisting with nerves until a blond head popped out around the corner from the backroom. A little figure trotted out and unlocked the door, which opened with a happy little chime, Bofur stepped inside, shaking the water off of his coat. “Good morning Bilbo”

“Good morning to you too! It’s lovely outside isn’t it? I just love rain” Bilbo chattered as he closed and locked the door again behind him. He turned around sharply, spinning on one heel and placing his hands on his hips in that particular way of his, taking a moment to look Bofur over. He shuffled under the scrutiny, glancing down at his scuffed boots, the older man had something about him that demanded authority, even if he was practically half his size and not intimidating at all. Yet one of Bofur’s greatest fears was disappointing him. Bilbo smiled softly, reaching up to pull the young man down for a warm, genuine hug that felt like everything a hug was supposed to be. It made Bofur a bit emotional to be honest. Bilbo Baggins was the owner of Green Door Books and Coffee, a well to do café, bakery, and bookstore that was hugely popular with college kids and business folk (mostly lawyers for some reason) who needed a quiet place to take a load off and get some work done. The place was all heavy wooden tables, low sofas and rugs and large windows. It was lined with bookshelves and had a room in the back dedicated to reading (it was the “quiet space” no cellphones allowed.) Bilbo was tiny, at 5’3, he was kind, gentle, and somehow managed to stick by his boyfriend, obstinate, cranky Thorin for the past five years through thick and thin, he was by far one of Bofur’s favorite relatives.

“Come on darling, how are you? Did you eat?” He asked, gently grasping him by the elbow, steering Bofur into the back, behind the counter and through a door into the massive kitchen there. Bilbo snorted after a moment “That’s right how silly of me, there would be no way Bifur would let you out of the house without eating.” He grinned, nodding along with the older man “how are you? Are you sleeping? How are your classes?” Before he could so much as give a polite refusal Bilbo had chattered him out of his coat, disappearing from the room for a moment before popping back up in that silent way of his “Alright well, there is a list, Thorin wrote up of everything we need restocked for baked goods.” He pointed to a sheet of paper tacked on the wall over the stove “You get a break whenever you need one, and if you can, help me out in the front every once in a while? You’re going to start bringing Bombur here after school right?” He turned to Bofur with a crinkle of worry between his green eyes, he was like Bifur in that way, always worrying. He found himself nodding before he could stop himself, Bilbo’s face lit up with a grin “good! I look forward to it! I haven’t seen your brother in forever.”

Bofur withheld a snort at that, it was no accident their adopted cousin hadn’t seen Bombur, the little shit was hormonal and angry and there was no one else in the world they wanted to keep from that more than Bilbo. The blond grinned once more, bustling around for a moment, turning on appliances and showing Bofur where everything was before pausing in the middle of the room, one arm crossed over his waist while the other went to his mouth, left hip cocked out casually, this was Bilbo’s habitual posture when thinking. “Well I do believe that’s everything darling, Oh yes!” 

Bofur raised an eyebrow as Bilbo went out to the front for a moment, coming back with a white apron which he tossed to him. “You should wear that, spare your clothes a little from the flour” the shop owner explained, tying on his own apron, which had the café’s logo carefully stitched on the front of it.

“Thanks” he murmured, smiling at the other before tying it loosely around his hips, fingers clumsy with the small strings.

Bilbo left him to it soon after that, and the first thing Bofur did was take off the plaid button up he was wearing, leaving him in a thin t-shirt. He propped open the back door with a chair and turned on a fan as he fired up the big ovens. He let thoes warm up as he pulled out everything he needed and set to work.

Bofur’s family had no set trade, they were everything from lawyers and business owners, to tradesmen, jewelers, teachers and bakers. Bifur owned a toy shop, and worked as a baker on the side, Balin himself started as a baker before becoming a teacher. Bofur had great chunks of memory taken up by the smell of bread and the texture of flour. He used to stand on his tiptoes and watch over the counter as his cousins talked and laughed and sweated hours away. Their shirts rolled up to their elbows and their beards stained white.  
It was home to him, it always was and would be, truth be told Bofur had no clue what he was even doing in college, he liked it sure enough, it was fun and he liked learning and being challenged. Yet the idea of offices and paperwork frightened him endlessly, he would be the happiest man in the world if he could bake and travel for the rest of his days. But he had expectations to live up to, he was the one that was going to make the family proud, he had to think about the future, and financial stability. Baking was no way to ensure the future.

The next few hours passed in a flurry of sifting, mixing, rolling and cutting, he vaguely registered the noise of Bilbo opening up the store and the distinct, sharp smell of coffee mixing with the baking. The kitchen heated by degrees as cinnamon rolls, biscuits, cinnamon chip bread, cheese bread, and scones of every assorted kind passed in and out of the ovens and through his hands. The bell over the front door chimed with increasing frequency, and at some point Bilbo came in to grab (and sample) the fruits of Bofur’s labor. He worked out his thoughts, his worries and his stresses, (because he had a paper due and two tests to study for and he was nowhere near done or ready, not to mention the loneliness he continually felt these days) and ended up finding a sort of sweet, temporary peace in the midst of glazing and icing, before he knew what was happening Bofur was kneading his umpteenth loaf of bread was just finishing the last cranberry scone drizzled in dark chocolate when his sweet silence was broken by a shriek.

“Boooooffffuuuuuurrrr!!!!”

He turned at the sound of his name, barely having time to brace himself before something impacted with his chest. Bofur wheezed as the wind was knocked out of him, leaning against one of the counters as he looked down at the bundle of squirming blond energy in his arms. “Fili” he huffed, grinning despite himself. 

“Bofur! Bofur!” The four year old answered, his chubby fingers winding into the others dirty shirt as he bodily bounced in his cousin’s arms.

“Fili!” he cried, placing kisses over the little boys face, earning him shrieks of joy, if his little cousin was here that must mean Thorin was around somewhere. “Did you come back here just to bother me?” He asked, Fili shook his head, little face scrunched up in sudden seriousness, Bofur had to fight not to coo over it. “Oh then what did you come here for?” He held his cousin under the armpits, holding him up over his head for a moment. The little boy loved kitchens, like most little kids did, because kitchens could only mean one thing.  
“Treats! Treeeaaatttsss!” the little boy shouted in answer, waving his little hands in the air to express the urgency of his errand.

“Oh so that’s what you want from me huh?” Bofur laughed, shifting the blond to his hip and reaching for one of the cookies he had pulled out earlier. Fili squealed into his cousin’s ear, attacking the cookie with delight. The two spent the next several minutes’ taste testing the cookies and frosting together. 

Fili was a cousin of some sort to Bofur, just as Thorin, the little boy’s uncle, was also his cousin, (and Balin, Dwalin, Gloin and Oin too.) None of them had any idea how they were related, if it was bloodlines or marriage or if they were first, second or third cousins but no one really cared. They all had the same tall, broad build, the same large rough hands. They had known each other all their lives and looked out for one another and that was all that really mattered in the end.

“So that’s where he got off to”

Bofur looked up to find Thorin standing in the doorway of the kitchen, in a pristine button down and slacks, beard neatly trimmed and hair pulled away from his face in what looked to be a braid going down his back. Honestly the man could look good in anything, even standing in the middle of a dusty kitchen in his business clothes, tea towel slung over one shoulder and a baby on his hip, he still looked like he had stepped out of a magazine. Bofur grinned at the other man, bouncing Fili in his arms

“he wanted to see if my cookies were up to snuff, very important business and all that.” He said, biting back a giggle as the little boy nodded vigorously with frosting stuck to his face and mouth full of gingerbread. The corners of Thorin’s mouth twitched, and he stepped back, gesturing towards the front of the shop.

“Well I suppose he’s excused then, but bring him out here, will you?” He didn’t bother to wait for a response before disappearing out to the front again. Bofur rolled his eyes but did as he was bid, blinking as he came out to the brightly lit shop, the large windows letting in more than enough light. Bofur had a special love for natural lighting and house plants, it made him feel less enclosed. Bilbo was leaning against the counter, his back to the shop, Thorin in front of him, bent forward, one large hand cupping the side of the other man’s face as he murmured something to him. The baby easily cradled in one large arm as they exchanged soft smiles. It made Bofur’s heart ache to see these two, who were self-destructive in their own ways if left to their own devices, but somehow filled in all the empty spaces and became whole as a couple. Lifting the other up in their own ways.   
He cleared his throat, breaking the sweet moment when Thorin straightened up, brushing imaginary wrinkles out of his shirt while Bilbo smiled indulgently and reached up to straighten his boyfriends tie. He turned and gave his employee a wink, Thorin turned a suspicious shade of pink.

“Bofur, would you mind keeping an eye on the boys and manning the shop for a bit? Thorin wants to take me to go see the work being done on the house.” Bofur grinned, nodding a bit as Fili leaned his head against his collarbone. Thorin and Bilbo had lived in the same apartment for about four years (actually it had been Bilbo’s apartment in the early stages of their relationship but at some point Thorin had just moved in and no one had said anything,) but after the boys had been placed in their care indefinitely six months ago and suddenly their cozy space became cramped with toys and children, the couple decided it was time to bite the bullet and buy a house, one with an actual yard and everything. The family had been thrilled and threw a big party when the papers had been signed for a nice two story place in walking distance to Bifur’s. It was a fixer, but no one ever said a Durin couldn’t fix something and the whole clan pitched in. 

He looked over at the clock, it was about 10:30, early still with only quiet, sleepy college kids studying or talking, the real rush came in around 12. (He knew from helping Bilbo behind the counter or coming in between classes himself.) “Yeah go check it out, Bifur was saying something about the electrical yesterday and I think the bathrooms are just about done.” He glanced over at the baby, Kili, who looked somewhere between sleepy and happy. “Just uh… come back before the lunch rush? I don’t think I can handle kids and making coffee at the same time.” 

Bilbo laughed, “I’m sure you could do it but don’t worry, I’ll probably be back in time” he patted Bofur on the arm comfortingly “just in case though, I’ll go get Kili’s little play pen from the back so you can have somewhere to put him.” Fili sat up in Bofur’s arms at that and wiggled, wanting down 

“I help I help!” He chanted, feet moving before Bofur could even put him on the ground. Bilbo grinned brightly, bending down to look at him and pushing the hair out of his face.   
“Yes yes you can help too! Come on I bet it’s heavy.” He took the little boy by the hand as they disappeared through the door to the kitchen. Bofur could hear Fili’s reassurances.

“Don’t worry! I’m strong!”

The cousins chuckled quietly for a moment before leaving themselves in comfortable silence, Bofur taking the chance to roll his shoulders and neck and shake out his hands, he was a bit stiff from all the baking. People thought it was a soft job but it took a lot more work than most realized. He was plotting out what was due when and what he needed to study when he got off work when Thorin spoke, starling him out of his thoughts. 

“Did you eat anything today?”

It was said quietly, quiet enough that he could pretend that he hadn’t heard anything, but he couldn’t stop the pinching of his mouth as his eyebrows drew together. There was a hot little stab of frustration and shame prodding him somewhere behind his eyes and a sick flip to his stomach as his mind whispered traitorous little words about the butter that had been on his toast that morning. He glanced up at his cousin, who was looking at him, carefully guarded. As careful as the rest of the family was, as they had all been since they found out, all of them always looking at him, judging the slouch of his clothes and what he put on his plate and how much was leftover when he was done. It was bad enough that they knew, let alone that they talked about it (oh yes he had heard the phone calls and the murmurs, it was hard to keep anything secret in a house with thin walls.) It was just the added punch that they had all taken it upon themselves to remind him, and prod him, and poke him about it now. What had ever happened to just leaving him alone about it?  
“Do you really think Bifur would have let me leave the house without eating?” He bit out, repeating Bilbo’s earlier words, his lip curling this time though despite himself. “Honestly it’s like you all think I’m some kind of child” He crossed his arms over his middle, hunching into himself, wishing for a sweater, or something, a layer of cloth, or maybe twenty layers, to bury himself in.

Thorin sighed, rubbing a hand over his eyes and pushing down the instinct to grab this stubborn child by the shoulders and shake him, or crush him in a hug; he couldn’t decide. It was painful, watching Bofur silently suffer like this, when he could still remember the gap toothed little kid who had worn his hair in braids. Asking over and over for stories or sweets from his frustrated teenage cousin who was being forced to watch him over the summer while everyone else worked. He took a breath, burying the urge to voice any of this. If being with Bilbo had taught him anything, it was that frustrated words, no matter how well meant, usually pushed a person farther away rather than helping them see the light. Instead he took a different route, 

“Hold Kili for me will you? My arm’s a bit tired.” Bofur eyed him, taken aback at the sudden shift in, but reached out for the child anyway. The one year old babbled happily at the familiar face, grasping one of Bofur’s fingers in his own, large brown eyes peering up at him with complete trust. The tightness in the bottom of his stomach unclenched, now that was a good feeling, being needed and trusted without question. Little feet kicked and little hands grasped at him, he was so absorbed in the smallest Durin that he didn’t notice Thorin was still there until his cousin placed a hand on his shoulder, leaning down slightly to rest his forehead against the others. 

“We do trust you, we just worry for your wellbeing and can’t help ourselves sometimes.” He murmured, his voice low and quiet. “That’s what family does. We annoy you because we love you.” Thorin clasped the young man’s neck, squeezing for a moment. Tapping their foreheads gently together before letting go.

Bilbo came out soon after, and the couple left, arm in arm and grinning at each other, Bofur settled the kids down and leaned against the counter, shaken still by his cousin’s words. It was one thing to know internally that your family loved you, it was an entirely different one to have is spoken out loud to you, by the most emotionally constipated person he had ever known. For some reason it made everything seem a little more concrete, and real, like he actually had a chance. He watched the traffic passing by the shop, umbrellas and coats of every color making the rain seem a little less dreary. It was quiet for a while as everything churned itself over in his head, he didn’t know how much time managed to pass before he heard Kili start to fuss quietly from his play pen. 

Bofur turned around, peering down at his little cousin, “Now what are you up to little one?” his voice soft as he brushed hair out of his face so he could see better. Fili looked up from his coloring to glance at his brother, 

“He wanna be picked up” the little boy said with surety, his blond brows knit together in utmost seriousness, Bofur snorted, glancing back at the baby with his eyebrows raised. Shrugging to himself before scooping the small one up into his arms. Kili immediately quieted, winding his hands into Bofurs shirt. Fili snorted back at him, going back to his coloring book with a nod. 

“Is that what you needed then?” he pressed a kiss to the head resting against his chest,   
The bell above the door chimed, and Bofur sighed to himself, so much for a quiet afternoon, he turned around Kili still in his arms, plastering an uncomfortable smile onto his face. “Welcome to BagEnd, how can I-“

Bofur stopped dead mid-sentence, because standing across the counter from him was a wet, rumpled looking Nori, his hair sticking up at odd angles, dark (familiar) circles under his eyes. Bofur fumbled, thrown off guard “uh… hey, Nori.” 

Nori raised his eyebrows, managing to look unimpressed and surprised at the same time “hey yourself” he said, eyes sweeping over Bofur and flicking pointedly to the baby in his arms. “It seems your full of surprises.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, thank you so much!   
> Comment on what you think?

**Author's Note:**

> So yeah, I will post the second chapter sometime soon.  
> Leave comments and feedback please if you will.  
> NO COPYING PLEASE, you are all lovely and this fic is my baby.


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